o fulfil thy need
With act and counsel, Creon comes, who now
Is regent o'er this people in thy room.

OED. Alas, what shall I say to him? What plea
For my defence will hold? My evil part
Toward him in all the past is clearly proved.

_Enter_ CREON.

CR. I come not, Oedipus, to mock thy woes,
Nor to reproach thee for thine evils past.
But ye, (_to_ Chorus) if all respect of mortal eye
Be dead, let awe of the universal flame
Of life's great nourisher, our lord the Sun,
Forbid your holding thus unveiled to view
This huge abomination, which nor Earth
Nor sacred Element, nor light of Heaven
Can once endure. Convey him in with speed.
Religion bids that kindred eyes and ears
Alone should witness kindred crime and woe.

OED. By Heaven, since thou hast reft away my fear,
So nobly meeting my unworthiness,
I pray thee, hear me for thine own behoof.

CR. What boon dost thou desire so earnestly?

OED. Fling me with speediest swiftness from the land,
Where nevermore I may converse with men.

CR. Doubt not I would have done it, but the God
Must be inquired of, ere we act herein.

OED. His sacred utterance was express and clear,
The parricide, the unholy, should be slain.

CR. Ay, so 'twas spoken: but, in such a time,
We needs must be advised more perfectly.

OED. Will ye then ask him for a wretch like me?

CR. Yea. For even thou methinks wilt now believe.

OED. Not only so. But I will charge thee too,
With urgent exhortation, to perform
The funeral rite for her who lies within--
She is thy kinswoman--howe'er thou wilt.
But never let this city of my sires
Claim me for living habitant! There, there
Leave me to range the mountain, where my nurse,
Cithaeron, echoeth with my name,--Cithaeron,
Which both my parents destined for my tomb.
So my true murderers will be my death.
Yet one thing I can tell. Mine end will come
Not by disease nor ordinary chance
I had not lived when at the point to die,
But for some terrible doom. Then let my fate
Run out its full career. But for my children
Thou, Creon, shalt provide. As for my sons,
I pray thee burden not thyself with them.
They ne'er will lack subsistence--they are men.
But my poor maidens, hapless and forlorn,
Who never had a meal apart from mine,
But ever shared my table, yea, for them
Take heedful care, and grant me, though but once.
Yea, I beseech thee, with these hands to feel,
Thou noble heart! the forms I love so well,
And weep with them our common misery.
O